My daughter Hope looked at me and said:
"Jeez mom! First a stop sign and now a red light... next thing you know you will rob a bank!"
I don't know where she gets her sarcasm from.
I love my husband-but he can drive any sane woman crazy from time to time. Being in the military, I have grown accustomed to him leaving and giving me free reign over the household. I miss him... but I am thankful for the freedom. I am sure he feels the same (although, who in the world will pick up his underwear from the floor!!?)
So this weekend it is just the girls. Look out world! Who knows what we will do! I see good movies in our future and shopping... and cereal for dinner. It is all very exciting.
Thank God for this little "break" from our regularly scheduled lives.
"When Colonists wanted to clean the chimney, they dropped a live chicken down it."
I laughed me ass off! I sat picturing a colonial wife trying to make her pot of soup when she noticed that the damn chimney was all dirty. This was causing her dirt floor to get even dirtier and her dirty children to have to breathe in dirty air from the dirty chimney. She sets down her dirty wooden spoon that she has made every meal with and walks over to the window and yells out to her dirty husband who has not bathed in months that he needs to clean the dirty chimney!
Perplexed with how to do this, the dirty husband looks around and sees an innocent chicken pecking at the ground. He yells to his dirty wife to start a fire and to put a pot of water on-he is about to kills two birds with one stone, or clean one chimney and make dinner with one bird.
He climbs on top of the roof holding the chicken by the legs and getting it good and stressed out so it flutters and flaps and just drops it down the chimney.
A huge puff of black smoke fills the little house and the chicken lands in the water. This my friends is how the recipe for "blackened chicken" was discovered.
I saw signs of this before my pregnancy,but almost like magic it went away the instant that the egg traveled down the fallopian tube hand in hand with Mr. Stud Sperm (my husband requested that I use that name for his ever fertile, never lazy sperm). I basically forgot about my "diseased condition" and carried on with life-happy in my ignorance of what was spreading in my body.
A few weeks after the birth of Mary Claire, my symptoms returned! I was a mess. I did not know what to do so I kept trying different things to see if it was all in my head, or if I really did have mad cow, or crazy chicken, or pissed off pigeon.
I CANNOT DRINK BEER! I don't know why-I LOVE BEER! Every time I crack open a cold one and start chugging, within 30 seconds I get a headache. I am not talking a little headache like the one I say I have to keep my husband on his side of the bed so that I can watch reruns of Project Runway, nooooo, these are monster headaches! These are the type of headaches that I should be getting the morning after drinking beer, not seconds after a few sips.
For an Irish person, this is a very distressing thing. How am I supposed to live? How am I supposed to tell someone off and then call the next morning and apologize all whilst blaming the beer? How am I supposed to ever sing karaoke again? How am I supposed to survive any visit whatsoever with my mother in law???? Oh the injustice of it all.
I did share my concern of this disease with my cousin Steve and he told me that the same thing used to happen to him. Maybe it runs in our family-I don't know. Steve said that he had to switch to the hard stuff in order for the headaches to go away.
This made sense to me. Back when I was younger I used to drink Kamikazes... not in a little shot glass, no I drank a big ol' 8 ouncer with a straw! I never had a headache. I started thinking that maybe Steve was on to something. So what if I had blackouts and would sometimes wake up in the bathroom instead of in my bed (the bathroom mat can be an extremely comfortable blanket)... at least I did not get an instant headache.
Well, this past weekend I had a breakthrough... and I didn't have to go out and buy vodka, Captain, or even Jack. I had a glass of wine. A full glass. No headache. So I had another glass. Still no headache.
I WAS CURED! I got up out of my wheelchair and danced around the stage!
This is all new to me because I have never been a wine drinker. My mother loves to have a box of wine in her fridge and take little nips from it here and there (ever 20 minutes or so), but I never liked the taste of boxed wine (maybe because it is cheap and I am a high dollar kind of whino). So if you have a fabulous wine that you love and want to share the name of it-let me know. I will go directly to the liquor store where they know me by name and I always give Loise behind the counter a tip-someday she will be able to replace that tooth she lost in prison, and I will buy your favorite wine.
I still feel a little like a kid whose dog just got hit by a car (Beer) but his mom just brought home a new puppy (wine). It is a bittersweet ending to my love affair with beer. We have had some good times together, and the memories that I can remember... they are priceless. I just hope my new puppy (wine) does not end up peeing on the floor in the morning.
That being said, I received this comment today from my Does This Cyst Make My Butt Look Big? post. It said:
"I understand that you may be making light of this situation but I truly hope that you realize that birth control is a Grave Sin and as Catholics, we should always be open to life."
This comment was posted by "Kevin" and I must say Kevin that I take great offense to the fact that you think you can leave such a comment on my blog. Obviously you have not read much of June Cleaver and I am assuming that you were the Google searcher for the "Butt Cyst" that lead you to my blog in the first place. I personally am thrilled that the search engine would pop up my blog when a person is looking for information on butt cysts, or sore nipples, or alcoholism-also known as "being Irish," but I have to let you know that I cannot stand people who make comments such as these (which by the way, to set the record straight... I HAVE 4 KIDS-I OBVIOUSLY AM OPEN TO LIFE!) who think they are better, or know more, or are closer to heaven than the rest of us... or at least than me.
A few years back at my cousin Dave's wedding (who married a beautiful girl named Shane who reads my blog and Dave is also the son to my Aunt Barb who reads my blog) my Uncle Chuck (who is the father to my cousin Steve who reads my blog and is Mary Claire's Godfather) was telling me a joke. When he was finished, instead of laughing I tried to explain to my Uncle the crudeness of this joke. He looked at me and said "Oh you are just like your mother! Lighten up!" He was right! I needed to lighten up and laugh. By the way, my mother does not read my blog... she doesn't have Internet, we are thrilled that she recently got indoor plumbing though-you are moving up mom!
So lighten up Francis (or Kevin in this case)... it is a blog-a blog on butt cysts!
And another thing... YOU ARE A DUDE! Who are you to be talking to me about birth control? That is between my husband and me and you should be ashamed of yourself for commenting on a woman's blog about such things. The nerve! You need to go to confession.
6 weeks postpartum and my normal walking routine (couch to fridge) was no longer cutting it and I decided to Baby Bjorn Mary Claire up and take a walk outside. It made me feel good, as if I were actually doing something to get me on the road to Skinnyville again. I used to live in Skinnyville, then I resided in Pregnantville only to be relocated to Flubby Town USA (Flubby is a word... look it up).
As I walked past my neighbor Michelle's house she came outside to see what I was doing. Apparently my walking outside was a sight to be seen as this is not something I normally do. Our conversation:
Michelle: What are you doing?
Me: To get rid of some of this extra weight that has attached itself to my rear end.
Michelle: Well walking is NOT going to help that!
Me: Thanks... seriously.
Michelle: You need to go work out! (I love Michelle's brutal honesty)
So today I went to work out. I struggled to get into my sports bra, but after a few minutes of grunting and sweating I was able to secure the twins. I considered that my work out warm up. I did a Jazzercise class with Michelle and I have to say that I really enjoyed myself.... aside from the sweating and heavy breathing.
There was a moment when I realized that my refusal to do kegal exercises during pregnancy was a mistake as I felt like my bladder was going to drop right onto to the floor every time I did a jump-ball change-twist move, not to mention that it felt a little like a wind tunnel down in my lower love region. It is hell getting old and out of shape let me tell you. Men have it easy-they never have to do a kegal penal exercise in order to be able to do some leg lifts without a making little sounds. All I have to say is-Thank God the music was turned up!
So, I am back on the quest for a perfect body... I don't know if I will ever find it, but I am going to try. I celebrated my first workout by coming home and eating a brownie. I have to keep my motivation up somehow!
We have different kinds of friends don't you think? There are different sides of ourselves that we show to people as well. I have many sides to me, and it is very rare for me to have a friend that I show all sides to. I can think of maybe a handful who know me as well as my husband knows me (although, I don't complain about my husband to my husband, so in a sense some of my friends may know me better than my husband. But, they do not know me as intimately as my husband-as in the Biblical sense-so he has that over them... something I am sure they are not jealous of.)
Here are some of my sides:
The "I am a very good Christian woman" side. Which is a very big side of me, because I am a very good Christian woman... but there are some people that I only show this side to. This side of me also makes me aware that other people may have the ability to show just the "Christian" side to me and therefore I am leery of do-gooders because I know they are tossing back a few and cursing up a storm on the weekends like I do (except for Sunday of course when I teach Sunday School) So when you show me this side, just show me the party side as well-I know it is in there. I guess that isn't a very "Christian" way of looking at my Christian woman side is it?
The "par-tay" side. This is the fun side of me... but it also tends to give me a bad reputation as a parent who drinks. That is fine, because I am a parent, and I do occasionally drink... I do not think these are bad traits to have, but the Christian side of some people don't like my par-tay side. It is confusing sometimes remembering who I have shown my sides to because I may come across a person who I have only shown my Christian woman side to when I am at a party and they suddenly come face to face with my par-tay side. It can be distressing and I have watched many a woman whisper things about me to other do-gooders. That isn't very Christian and this is how I know they have other sides to them than their Christian side as well-so drink up my friend... it is time to par-tay.
My ugly side. This only comes out when you are a good enough friend to sleep with me in the same bed after a night of heavy drinking in a foreign country. I smell of vomit and alcohol and my breath is atrocious... but you know I really love you dearly if I let you see me like this. My husband has seen me like this on many occasions, our honeymoon being one of them.
My "horrible person" side. This is the side where I cry about what a horrible person I am either because I am a bad mom (we all feel this way from time to time) or I am a bad wife (another place we all visit.) You are a good friend when I tell you about my insecurities and failures.
My "who gives a shit" side. This is the side that I show a lot of people, because sometimes I just don't give a shit what you think of me.
My "I am trapped in my house" side. This is my complaining side, when I complain about my kids, husband, parents, other friends, neighbors, dog, Target cashiers, mailman, and the finale to the Sopranos.
My "I'll do anything for you" side. If you are a military wife, or a person who has ever been in need of something-you have seen this side of me.
My "me so horny" side. I must admit that my husband is the only one who benefits from this side, but it is brought on by full moons, alcohol, and ovulation, and I am a handful. Lock up your husbands girls... I may try to come on to them with my slurred words and my loud laughter all rounded out by a good fart and a pass out.
My "mom" side. This is the side I show other moms at the park or at ballet class. It is the side where I am defined completely by the children that have sprung forth from my loins.
My "no bra" side. This is another side only a few have seen. It is the side where I am comfortable enough with you to go bra-less. This is usually accompanied by morning breath, bedhead and a breakfast table.
My "I'll be at your funeral" side. This is the side where I know I will be your friend for life and one day I will be at your funeral-or you will be at mine... which ever happens first. I hope I pack the Church!
Well... I forgot. Hey, as I said before my brain is being sucked through my boobies at an alarming rate since I have been nursing. Cut me some friggen slack here.
We get to ballet (5 minutes late) and Emma rushes into the studio. I notice that there is no one in the waiting room so either there is a fabulous sale at the "Get Nailed" nail salon next door, or I have made a horrible horrible mistake and today is parent's day. As soon as Emma rushes in and sits down with all of the other little ballerinas, she starts to notice that everyone has their bea-u-tiful recital costumes on and she has her ordinary pink one... and I didn't even comb her hair this morning, I simply pulled the curls up in a off center pig tail. She turns to me and in a very loud whisper says "MOM! WHY DON'T I HAVE MY DRESS ON?" I put my finger over my mouth as if that could possibly quiet her and I tell her that everything is OK.
She sits for a few more minutes until the little girl next to her says "Why don't you have your costume on?" (Can I just call this child a brat now? Brat!) Emma looks to the girl on the other side of her and she not only has lipstick on, but she looks like her mother used the same lipstick on her cheeks as blush... a technique that my Grandmother perfected in the car on the way to Mass years ago. Emma turns to me again and says (in a very accusatory tone I might add) "MOM, WHY DIDN'T YOU PUT MY DRESS ON ME?"
It should be pointed out that I was not the only bad mom there today. One of the popular "posh" moms (who can forget the "posh" moms?A Fly On The Wall... ) forgot about the costume today as well. She has teenagers and this three year old... the only thing she really has to occupy her mind with is this three year old, and what vacation home they are going to chose to fly off to next week. I at least can blame the baby... right?
Well, I caved. I quickly motioned for Emma to come to me and then I grabbed her hand and hustled it out of there so fast that you would have thought I was an Olympic sprinter. We made it home in 2 minutes flat (red lights are optional for a mother on the edge) and I whipped Emma into her costume and even put some lip gloss on her and dashed back to the studio just in time for them to start the performance.
While I was sitting there watching my daughter, who was now all decked out in her $80 costume, do her little spins and twirls that I have spent $50 a month for her to learn (which by the way, I want my money back) the baby decided to let out a big ol' poo. This was the kind of poo a bear has after hibernation... when he has to poo out the plug of twigs and berries that he ate last fall with an enormous amount of grunting and pushing. It was a big one... and it was all over her outfit and my beige shorts (the only shorts that fit me since her birth.)
And people wonder why I drink so much...
Because of you... I go to bed at night with a clean kitchen and wake up to dishes in the sink, bread crumbs on the floor, and warm milk on the counter.
Because of you... I drive a minivan.
Because of you... I go to little league games on Friday night instead of the bar.
Because of you... I buy things like nursing pads instead of a string bikini.
Because of you... I have stretch marks.
Because of you... I have a "mom" haircut instead of the long flowing sexy hair I used to have.
Because of you... I have hemorrhoids from childbirth.
Because of you... I have been naked and screaming in pain as a roomful of people watch me push.
Because of you... I clip coupons.
Because of you... I know who Dora the Explorer is.
Because of you... I no longer have perky boobs.
Because of you... I know what channel is Disney and Nickelodeon.
Because of you... I get sloppy ice cream kisses.
Because of you... I have had gum in my hair.
Because of you... I have gone out in public with spit up on my shirt and Barbie stickers on my butt.
Because of you... I have not slept through the night since 1994.
Because of you... I sound more and more like my mother everyday.
Because of you... I know how to remove ticks from little bodies.
Because of you... I eat more hot dogs than fillet Mignon.
Because of you... I have not used the toilet in peace in years!
Because of you... I have my babies.
Because of you... my life is overflowing with love.
Because of you... it is all worth it!
~Happy Father's Day~
Your older sister fell in love with you the moment you were born. She is a mini-mom to you and I know you get frustrated when she tells you what to do, but I am so proud of you when you actually listen to her. You love the great games she thinks up for you to do, like the "timed clean-up" that is a fun one! Your older sister will always guide you through life because she will know what you are going through-and she is younger and cooler than me. You look just like her, and you already want to be like her because you will say things to me like "When I am old like Hopey can I go to a party?" Yes, when you are old like Hopey you can go to a party baby.
Happy Birthday little one. You are so precious to us all~
I worry about this because when my husband is asleep he thinks that he is the only person in the world who is asleep so he can move, make noise, and snore as often and as loudly as he would like.
Mary Claire is now in the little crib in our room because she is a PHENOMENAL sleeper. I am knocking on wood as I type here and I do not want any of you moms who have children who do not sleep cursing me right now. I have paid my dues long enough with sleepless nights and wide awake children--years and years, so just give me my kudos and leave me alone!
Anyway, there is a certain "awareness" to sleeping with a baby in the same room. I hear every sigh, I listen when she scrunches around under her blanket, I hold my breath when I hear her little oohs and ahhhs, and I lay perfectly still when my spidey instincts tell me that her little eyes are open. I lay still and hold my breath. I lay still and hold my breath and say a prayer. I lay still, hold my breath, say a prayer, and get an itch on my nose-but I will not scratch it because if I make one false move I know she will wake up.
My husband on the other hand does not follow this course of action when it comes to hearing the baby move around. No, he forgets that there is baby in the room all together. He thinks that someone is disrupting HIS sleep time and therefore he moans, he kicks his legs back and forth and he stretches making that "EEEeeeeeeee" stretching sound. I want to shake him, but I am playing possum and not making one false move.
Last night Mary Claire slept from 10 p.m. to 6 a.m. She gets a gold star and tons of kisses from me as I have been awarded mother of the year today and have returned to the land of sleep filled nights and no more hag bags under my eyes. Ahhhhhhh. My husband woke up, stretched, yawned, farted, stretched some more and turned to me and said "Did she have a good night?"
Amazingly, in spite of his stretches, yawns, moans, and farts, she was able to sleep. She'll have no problems fitting into this family~God help her.
My son has always been like this though. He would scream and cry when I left him at preschool, he used to scream and cry when I signed him up for karate-which HE wanted to do, and is now actually a Brown belt! He used to scream and cry when I tried to drop him off at a friend's house for a birthday party... and on the first day of kindergarten, my son was that one kid who held on to the bike rack for dear life while his mother-me-grabs hold of his legs and pulls with all her might. I did this while holding an infant and all of the other mothers just looked at me and quickly looked away as if to say "Better you than me sista!"
Aaron is 9 now and has grown out of this horrible "scream and cry" stage that only lasted his ENTIRE LIFE so far. I thought I was in the clear. I thought it would be easy sailing from here on out... boy was I wrong!
My three year old has always been the picture of happiness. I assumed she was just like her older sister and brave. Willing to do anything, anytime and with anyone. I breathed a sigh of relief the first day of Ballet and my little one strolled right into class without so much as a glance back at me. I once again started to believe that I may just be getting the hang of this mothering thing... hell, I was even started to be downright confident in my mothering abilities. I don't know what I was thinking.
My daughter pitched a fit today at the dentist. She screamed, she kicked, she yelled obscenities (well, OK, maybe not obscenities... but if she knew some obscene things to say I am willing to bet she would have said them.)
Thank God our dentist is a SAINT! Finally she asked me to leave the room-I assumed she was spanking my child, as this is what I wanted to do right there in the exam room. I stood behind the x-ray protector wall and listened as Dr. Kiki tried to reason with my child, tried to bribe my child, and finally tried to threaten her with never being able to see her family again. (OK, she didn't threaten her with not being able to see her family again-but that is the tactic that I would have used by golly.) What Dr. Kiki did not know is that my daughter is a determined child. She was not letting up... and she was not about to let anyone in her mouth. The screaming did not stop, the kicking only got more violent, and the thought of getting a new toothbrush and a sticker was so not worth my daughter giving in on this tantrum. She was too far gone-and she was not coming back to the world of "seen but not heard" children.
I just took a deep breath and resolved myself to the fact that I will always be labeled the mom who has screaming children. I was so hoping that I could make it through one kid without a warning label being put on their medical chart.
When all was said and done and Emma had to be held down by three people in order to get her teeth cleaned, the Hygienist looked at me and said "You are such a calm mom. How do you stay so calm?"
I looked her square in the eyes and said "Alcohol. I drink a lot of alcohol." and on that note we were out the door and down the street headed for McDonald's. I learned long ago that a bad day at that dentist is nothing a Happy Meal can't fix... or a bottle of wine.
Vivian is having a bit of a problem... it seems she has been getting cysts on her butt. Now, one may read this and think "OH! That is awful!" But when she told me this I could not help to laugh. I did not laugh because I am mean-OK, maybe a little-but I laughed because Viv has more problems with her butt than most people.
She once had hemorrhoids so badly that she had to pull her car over to the side of the highway and call an ambulance-no joke! She has had rhoid surgery but still has some dingle berries that blow in the wind down there. On cold days they have been known to freeze (urban legend I am sure).
The cysts have come since the birth of her son 3 months ago. I have always said that children can be a pain in the butt, but this time it is literal.
The worst part is that her husband has been popping these cysts for her. Oh the love! She was going to the Doc, but they were just popping them anyway so her husband, being the ever-savvy money saver, decided to save a buck or two and pop them himself.
I personally cannot think of better birth control.
What he sees:
Wife laying in bed with baby while he has to get up and go to work. He is very jealous~
What She sees:
Husband getting to escape this house after a full nights sleep since he does not wake up when the baby fusses to eat-and she knows this because every morning he asks "How many times did she wake up?"
What he thinks:
My wife gets to play with the kids all day and watch TV! I wish I lived the life of a vacation.
What actually happens:
Wife is spit up on all day. Wife has not finished an entire sandwich since 1994. Wife gets to do things like wipe little butts, wipe little mouths, wipe little sticky hands all day. Wife gets to listen to children fight and whine and then she gets to threaten them with bodily harm.
What she thinks:
Husband gets to have adult conversation all day long and follow his own agenda. He can eat an entire meal with an actual FORK and he gets to shower all of his body parts every day... not just the important ones on alternating odd and even numbered days.
What actually happens:
Husband gets to have adult conversation all day long and follow his own agenda. He can eat an entire meal with an actual FORK and he gets to shower all of his body parts every day... not just the important ones on alternating odd and even numbered days.
What he sees:
The house is a mess when he comes home at night and there is no dinner on the horizon. Wife is sitting on couch cuddling baby-which she probably did all day long. The bills aren't paid, the laundry is not done, the kids have made a tent city in the family room with bed sheets and there are empty beer bottles on the kitchen counter. Obviously wife had a party!
What actually happened:
Wife tried and tried all day to get things done but either the baby cried or someone was bleeding. She attempted to start dinner 5 different times but each time she suggested something to her children they all said "EWWWW" so she just gave up and ordered a pizza. The checkbook is on the table and she has been balancing it for 3 weeks straight now but she has to keep stopping in order to spank someone, put a band aid on a little person, or fish someones underpants out of the backyard pond. The laundry has been loaded and washed, but she has had no time to put it in the dryer so she has to keep rewashing it every day to take away the musty smell it has. The tent city is in the family room because after listening to her children say "I'm bored" ten thousand times today, she gave in and let them do whatever the hell they wanted to because she started drinking!
What she sees:
When her husband walks in she sees a man who is tan from the golf course and in shape from his afternoon workouts at a gym. She sees a man who has come home refreshed in order to help out by driving kids to evening activities and someone who will take the trash out as it stinks of dirty diapers. She sees a man that has walked through the doors in order to save her from this insanity!
What actually happens:
Husband rarely comments on the laundry, and takes the older kids to their activities... thank GOD!
What she needs:
Her husband to hug her and love her in spite of the unbalanced checkbook and the tent city.
What he needs:
His wife to love him in spite of the golf days and more sex.
What actually happens:
They life happily ever after...
A few hours later I received a phone call from my husband telling me that he knew who I was talking about and he had actually given said person the address to this blog. Great-Grand-Crap!
So, I had to delete it. I was sad and a little angry. Just why am I writing this blog if I have to constantly censor it... besides, who really reads this anyway.
We homeschool, so finding friends may at times be challenging. It was not challenging in Omaha-he-ho because we were there long enough to feel at home and we lived in the kind of small town where everyone knew everyone and friends were a dime a dozen. When you homeschool, many moms take advantage of homeschool groups where the dress code may very well be denim jumpers for moms, but there is never a shortage of kids to be friends with-good solid kids. The kind that know how to chop wood and sew quilts. The kind that know how to survive for a week in the wilderness when they wander off from their boy scout camp and the kind that know how to ice skate, play Mozart on the piano, whip up a tatter tot casserole, and speak 4 different languages. Fabulous kids! Kids that one day will govern this great Nation of ours!
I found the name of a homeschool group based out of Fort Belvoir Army Post. I called the membership coordinator and she promptly convinced me to find a less task oriented group (she must have been my soul sister because she was so wise to think that I did not want a group where I have to host teas, or have to cut out 500 bunny ears made out of construction paper for the annual Easter Egg Hunt!) I remember thinking to myself "This is one cool chick-I could totally see having her as a friend."
But, when you homeschool another sad fact is that you don't put as much effort into finding friends for yourself as you do for your children, so I sadly looked at the fact that she lived 30 minutes from me and that I just didn't have time for a new friend. Now is the time in the post where you can say "awww" and feel sorry for me as I am locked away in this house of mine with my children and the only time I get away is when I go to the grocery--or the liquor store, which ever is closer.
Around January, I started toying with the idea of starting a Blog. I wanted to do this for two reasons, the first being that I have a lot to say and no one listens to me in my house and the second is that I needed to let the world know that my husband is secretly trying to control me by constantly getting me pregnant and keeping me attached to this house with our children who are with me 24/7. It is a wicked wicked web that he is weaving let me tell you.
Anyway, I stumbled upon a blog written by a very witty, intelligent woman who, like me, was a Catholic, homeschooling, military wife. I started to comment on her blog and when I became a world famous blogger (cough cough) she started reading and commenting on my blog.
Eventually she emailed me one day (as all of my desperate fans eventually do) and I cocked my head to the side and thought "my her name looks familiar."
Long story short... it was the same wonderful woman that I had talked to on the phone a year ago who had gotten to know me so well in the span of our 20 minute conversation that she spared me a year of mandatory Friday fun days with 300 other homeschooling military families who were exhausted from all of those construction paper tasks. I may homeschool... but I don't homeschool quite like that.
Last week Michelle came over with her little gaggle of kids and spent the afternoon chatting. She didn't come empty handed as she brought us dinner as well! I cannot rave enough about her Walnut Cranberry Bread and as soon as she gives me the recipe I will post it here. You know that is something special as the only other recipe I have posted on this blog is that of an alcoholic drink called an "Irish Car Bomb."
Michelle is moving in a few weeks across the country-as the story goes for most military wives. Move, find friend, friend moves... repeat 25 more times. Good thing I know is that she will just be a computer screen away---with a stack of construction paper bunny ears half cut out next to her.
To say we had a blast is to put it lightly. We had a friggen blast! There were so many people stuffed in my little house that I quickly realized that I had to throw my anal "why is there shaving cream on the dog?" tendencies out the door and just enjoy the chaos that was surrounding me.
One day my sister and I took all of the kids to the Immaculate Conception Shrine in downtown DC. Now, to do this is much like taking a Chimpanzee to Buckingham Palace. Things will get broken, people will scream in horror, and guns may very well be locked and loaded. We first decided to have a picnic on the lawn, because what better place to feed 9 children but outdoors under the trees. One would think they would NOT want us in the cafe of the Shrine, but we were approached by a security guard and told that we could not eat on the lawn (where all the squirrels, birds, the occasional raccoon, and chipmunks eat-and I daresay-poop!) So we plucked our boys from the trees and rounded our girls up from rolling down the hills and headed indoors. The security guard seemed to follow us throughout the day with his hand on his gun as if to say "Make one false move and you'll get it folks." If he was trying to be intimidating it did not work-I was on a field trip with 9 children man-Manson himself could have approached me and I would have laughed in his face.
I love the way that kids whisper... or the way they think they are whispering. I had to laugh out loud at my niece and her whispering yells. You know the kind of whisper I am talking about, the one that is louder than a mere scream and said with complete conviction and sternness. She kept "whispering" to everyone things like "BE QUIET! THEY ARE HAVING MASS!" or "GET OVER HERE!" and even "DO YOU THINK JESUS WANTS YOU TO CLIMB ON THAT STATUE OF SAINT PETER?" It was all very funny to me... Oh, and I want to take this moment to apologize to all of the people who had lit candles that day for their prayer intentions as many of your candles were blown out by little people who are related to me-
I have also decided that the best way to get good and skinny is to simply have a bucket full of kids. Just keep popping them out at a constant rate. You will be so tired that you will not have the energy to eat. When you do have a meal, you will spend the entire time serving, cutting, spanking, filling, wiping up, refilling, spanking again, serving seconds, and then when everyone is happy and eating... there will be only one french fry and a corner of burger for you to eat. I think I am going to write a book about this weight loss breakthrough-I'll be on Oprah I bet.
My cousin Steve came in Friday night-but I need to do an entire post on him so I will just let you know that he did his part in getting the kids good and hyper for us. Thanks Steve... my huband and Steve did put up a ceiling fan-which involved a bottle of Captain and a few trips into the attic. Now when you flip the switch the house rotates 180* but I am not one to criticize.
My parents came in Saturday... and I had to hide the wine from my mother, but she found the beer so she was useless to me by 7 p.m. My dad kept up with me-but I am just coming off of childbirth and sore nipples, what is his excuse?
Well, I better go help my husband tighten the toilet seat back up. We have no idea how it came lose and with all the butts that were on it this past week, I can only imagine. I just saw him heading up to the bathroom with a drill, a screwdriver and duct tape-this should be interesting...
It's good to be back to blogging--I feel the same way that I bet Paris Hilton feels about returning to jail. Overjoyed and a little afraid of becoming someones girlfriend (so if you have a tattoo that reads "Take Me On A Magic Carpet Ride" please just bypass my blog completely.)